


Towards Something of Uncertainty

by Ten Reasons For Nothing (PrussianLlamaCat)



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Gen, and so on and so forth - Freeform, mm? You say you see Hinata there? Wonder why?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 05:02:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3344585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrussianLlamaCat/pseuds/Ten%20Reasons%20For%20Nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isn't death supposed to be, you know, permanent? You die, candle's out, woosh! - you're dead. Zero, zilch, nada, done. Right? Then - someone, please explain to me why I'm still somehow here...? And at that - a ghost, of all damn things...! Hmph. At least I'm not completely useless here... and maybe... maybe I could do something about this mutual killing game of theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Towards Something of Uncertainty

1:35 AM

Date: ??? Place: ???

* * *

There's someone dying before me, and— as such— I have no idea what the hell I should do.

How awfully generic.

She hasn't died, not just yet: her killer hasn't made a strike— not yet, anyway— but it's obvious, by the way the entire way is set up, she's going to get stabbed soon enough. It's almost ironic, I muse, as she's trembling and clutching desperately onto the doorknob, and how, really,  _she's_ supposed to be the one on the other side of the door, eyes wide with bloodlust and terror, killing out of desperation, self-defence, and paranoia.

At least— that's what I  _think_ it is. I'm no psychologist, but, well, she looks  _scared_ , and he looks just as scared as she does, except the knife's in  _his_  hand. Doesn't take much brain power to really sum up what that'll lead too.

(And his red hair pretty much fits the whole thing, contrasting her own blue. Call me sexist, but the image of the blue-haired petite girl holding the knife with the red-haired guy trembling in the bathroom just doesn't add up.)

She's let go of the door by this point: she's still shaking, heaving, and her eyes, constantly shifting left and right as she takes unsteady steps back, reflect those of a wolf whose discovered its no longer at the top of the food chain, whose mental image was just shattered leaving behind a poor, broken dog staring a gun barrel right between its eyes.

...how poetic of myself, to describe such a scene like this so calmly when she's fucking  _dying_.

The door isn't locked, but that damned idiot of a red-head doesn't seem to realize that. Maybe it's because the door's refusing to budge when he jiggles it constantly like some idiot instead of trying some other way, since— on closer inspection (basically just like,  _letting go of the damn knife, calming the fuck down, and staring at the stupid sphere of metal you freakin' refuse to just take a damn look at_ )— it's pretty obvious there isn't any sort of lock, which leads to the conclusion that, yeah, the damn thing isn't fucking locked, the door's just really sucky.

But, well, apparently, when you're in a life-or-death situation here, where everything is so damn  _obvious_ , you don't have any sort of common sense.

...you may be wondering what I'm doing, at this point. And how they've managed to not find me, and how  _I've_ managed to see both of them despite them being separated by a wall.

...well, okay. Let's start with this: I'm not the kind of individual who'd let a person, regardless of gender identity, get killed in a bathroom: especially _someone else's_  bathroom, where'd it be pretty clear that said person would be framed for the crime. And I'm not the sort of character who'd let a guy kill someone else, especially if its only because out of self defence and they're just as confused and scared as their potential victim, who's going to be dead in a matter of minutes.

There's only one problem.

...I'm dead.

Zero, zilch, nada. Dead, deceased, missing, lifeless, 'gone to meet maker', inanimate, whatever it is you wish to call it: I'm  _not alive_ , and there's nothing I can do about it.

My name is… actually, I don't remember. Neither do I remember my gender, however unfortunate  _that_  is. There isn't even a damn  _corpse_ for me to identify as, and the only thing close to one is the poor girl before me.

And, well… this may sound pathetic, but—

...I don't remember dying.

Yeah, yeah— it's stupid, I know. I mean— it's your  _death_. The moment of your passing— your candle's out,  _whoosh_!; light one moment, steaming smoke the second— you're freakin'  _dead,_ and you're supposed to remember, right?  _Right_?

Fuckin'  _nope._

Yeah, it sucks, it sucks, it sucks. All you living people got it good, no matter how much you complain your asses off: at least you're  _alive_. No matter how much you've got it bad, well—

_At least you have a damn identity._

Me? I don't know who the hell I  _am,_   _where_ the hell I am, how the hell I  _died_ , how the hell I'm still somehow _here_ , as well as about a thousand more "how the fucking hell"-related questions that won't shut up in my mind. It's absolutely wonderful. I seriously recommend for you to try it.

I don't know how, but I'm here, watching someone die. I'm not sure if I should feel afraid, or if I shouldn't, but being dead yourself usually sucks the fear factor out of it, being that  _I'm_ currently dead and there really isn't much to be afraid of, from what I've experienced so far. Still, it's really much better to be alive. Take it from a dead person.

Currently, I'm—  _somehow_ — in the doorknob, somehow  _possessing it,_ explaining my uncanny ability to see both perpetrators simultaneously: though that doesn't explain me being able to see the front door to this room, as well as the hallway right outside. Whatever. I'd woken up here, in this…  _doorknob_ , with no explanation as to how nor why. In short, it's really weird, disconcerting, and just really boring, since doorknobs really don't have much going for them in terms of the 'fun' factor.

Oh, wow, take a look at that— damn idiot's broken the doorknob, what brilliance. It's fallen— as well as my unfortunate spirit residing within it— and it and I are on the floor, watching from an almost surreal angle as he pulls open the (now damaged) door and— oh,  _shit—_ stalks inside.

...she's going to die, isn't she…?

_W— wait—!_

The total surrealness of my situation and the absolute realness of what's going on before me abruptly hits me like a tsunami, rendering me into a trembling soul, and I'm thinking,  _oh crap, oh crap, oh crap oh crap oH CRAP—_

Panic fills my insides (or the lack of it, anyway) and I'm clutched with paralysis, watching the scene unfold before me as I froze.  _How the hell is that possible, I mean, I'm a fucking_ ghost _, there's nothing I can do—_

I reach forward, however the best I could—  _stop, you idiot, fucking_ stop _, do you know what you're even_ doing—?!

The world flashes to red, everything seems to stop, and orbs glow before me, bright and blue, but it doesn't matter, because  _I just can't let someone die in front of me while I do nothing—!_

And then there's another flash, and I'm back in reality—

And then I find myself—

...I'm in the knife.

The scene's shifted a little: I still see the knob, uselessly dead on the floor as a cold hunk of metal, and I'm being clutched by shaking fingers and a sweaty palm as the world before me bobs rhythmically to the redhead's footsteps.  _Down. Down. Down. Down. Down._ With every step he's getting closer and closer and closer and closer and closer…!

It's undeniable. I… I really am in the knife.

_H… ho… how..?!_

… _I'm in the bloody knife?!_

I don't understand.

This doesn't make any sense.

The knob I was in is  _there_ , but I'm  _here_ ,  _somehow_ , but I was  _there_ , how—?!

 _This is not the time to think about that!_ I'm shouting at myself—  _look, you can fucking_ move _, maybe, just maybe, there's something you can do—?_

B— but I don't know, I don't know: but, nevertheless, I try and calm myself down.  _Slow down, slow down, slow the_  crap _down…_

... _slow down?_

...those words…

I'm confusing myself— I don't know, I don't know, I don't know, I  _fucking don't know—_

I'm in the knife— s— so  _what_? It's not like I can  _do_ anything. I want to snap at something, kick at something, and in my vent my attention shifts to the shower door: the shower is caged in with glass, a measly means of separation from the rest of the bathroom beside it— and—

_What was it that I did, again—?_

I reach out, one more time, and—

_The world shifts to an eery red, and time comes to a sudden stop._

I abruptly pause.

 _...what_?

Wa— wait. That— that can't be right, can it—?! I whirl around, madly, twisting and turning and taking everything and wondering—  _what? What? What's going on, what's happening—?!_

_...time has stopped._

Time has stopped.

Everything around me is in a red-scale, red on red on red on red and it's  _maddening_ — but, aside from that, curiously… certain things seem to be… be  _glowing_.

Blue spheres flicker within the cores of many different object, scattered throughout and seemingly at random: the doorknob I was in, the knife I'm currently occupying, the hinges of the both the shower door and the bathroom door—

...huh.

Gingerly— not really knowing what to expect— I reach out, once again, towards the shower door.

There's a sudden burst of electricity—  _what? Wait— what, a connection was made...?—_ and when I let, go, well!— I find myself within the core of the shower door.

I retreat myself, stunned— wait, what just happened—?!

— but there's no time to think— no time to react, no time to gauge everything that's happened so suddenly and so abruptly and just so  _maddeningly_ in the past few minutes— for I feel, I  _sense_ —

... _I could save her life._

I don't know why, I don't know how: I just  _know,_ the fact rooted deeply in my senses and in my being and in my thoughts and  _soul_ , and I  _know I have to do something about this_.

My attention shifts back to the door hinges I'm currently occupying— the door's wide open (why hadn't she bothered to close it? Is it because she was aware that no matter what she did she knew that she'd be killed, anyway?), and the glass seems to tremble from within, shivering with the fear that seems to quiver from the forms of the two terrified beings that currently occupy the bathroom— minus one lonely spirit. He hasn't reached her— not just yet—

—  _but I could stop it? How—?_

— and the screwdriver that had been clutched tight in his other hand clatters to the floor with a deafening glitter of metal on tile. He's making his way closer—

—  _closer and closer and closer and closer and closer—!_

— and, suddenly, almost against my will, I heave the door shut with all my might.

The door slams shut, abruptly, and the metal screeches indignantly as it scrapes and scratches at the tile below, the wall screaming as the door it thrown into it: and the girl and the guy scream— understandably. The boy's dropped the knife, eyes wide with even more terror, and the girl's hiccuping, tears streaming down her face: but a confused look is skewering through the fear, and the horrified panic and utter confusion seem to wage a battle within their eyes as they both freeze, not really able to comprehend what had just happened.

Well, neither am I.

... _what the hell did I just do…?!_

But, for the moment, it doesn't even seem to matter: for the heat of fear licks and ignites in their eyes— and desperation seems to settle, and the boy's eyes are wild and mad. He bends down, whole body trembling as he takes up the knife, as if he's performing some kind of crazy, insane, bloody ritual; the grip on the knife tightens, sweat dripping from his fingers and from his hair, and with a disgruntled and desperate cry he throws back the shower door— and lunges.

She could only scream when the knife plunges into her chest: and blood flies everywhere, like water from a fountain.

Everything within me shuts down.

_Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—_

His eyes are wide, fearful and terrified, and her's flicker, for a moment, before something within her wheezes, and dies. He's shaking— his entire body trembles, as her own body goes limp and falls.

_...she's dead._

If I had a physical body, I would've fallen to my knees.

_she… she's dead…_

_...and it's all because of me…_

I don't even notice how the boy leaves the room, the door squeaking close behind him.

My mind whirls with the possibilities. If I had done this, if I hadn't done that, If I'd done this sooner, if I'd done this later— I can see  _so many times_ where she could've lived, but because of my idiocy and incompetence she's lying,  _dead_ , slouched on a wall, splattered and stained with hideous red blood.

"Damn it!"

No one hears me, but like I give a damn about that. I shift my spirit around the various littered items aimlessly, restless and troubled— the knife to the doorknob to the roller to the door hinge to the knife to the shower to the knife that goddamned knife— and I settle myself once again to the shower door hinges, my soul shivering with an uneasiness I can't seem to control.

I wish I knew her name. She's dead, like me, and now…

_...like me…_

_...could it be…?_

...can I posses dead bodies?

The thought pounds at me, and I'm not so sure if I should act upon my sudden burst of inspiration— if it's even appropriate to call it that, really. It almost feels as if I'm intruding upon her privacy— I'm not the kind of person who would touch anyone, less they gave me their explicit permission for the sake of their privacy (as well as the fact that I'm seriously just not a touchy-feely person whatsoever)— but, well, she's  _dead_ , s— so...

The logic sucks, but it doesn't matter now, does it…? There's nothing for me to lose, really: now that I've discovered I can move around some bloody objects, there's really no reason for me to stay here— I could just… leave.

But my gaze shifts back to the girl, nevertheless. Just because I'm dead, doesn't mean I should subject others to the same fate...

...

...I've made my decision.

I tug at reality, and time stops as the world shifts to the eery red once again. Her corpse— unlike before— glows with a new blue core, and worry and pity rakes at my being. The cores seem to be only present in inanimate object— non-living things. If her corpse has a core now, then…

That doesn't matter. I shake off the cobwebs of uncertainty, worry, and fear, and— with a finality that seems to seal some sort of fate— I reach out and touch her core.

**Author's Note:**

> Bet'cha can't guess what other visual novel I used for this game's physics *nudge nudge wink wink*


End file.
